


quiescent

by dysprosium (blueism)



Series: Glass. [Dream Angst] [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: But also not, Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Other, Pain, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ending, Touch-Starved, are killng me, first death ive ever written, god tags, i suck, ig, pleasew, spoiler: he doesnt get one, woohoo, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29162643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueism/pseuds/dysprosium
Summary: quiescent/kwēˈesnt,kwīˈesnt/adjectivein a state or period of inactivity or dormancy.
Series: Glass. [Dream Angst] [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126262
Comments: 2
Kudos: 155





	quiescent

**Author's Note:**

> death was added cause i had an idea lol

Pain. It stung. Dream blinked once. Twice. Everything was dark. Where was he? Suddenly, memories came rushing back, assaulting his mind.

“My job here is done,” a voice said smoothly in his ear, yet the voice had an unnerving quality to it, “Everyone hates you. They’re done with you and they won’t ever know that you didn’t do those things.”

“What things?” Dream wanted to ask. But he couldn’t. His voice was stuck in his throat. His mouth moved, yet no sound escaped his lips. He frowned. 

“Alright, goodbye, Dreamy! It was fun ruining your life~!” the voice faded, and Dream came back to with a start, grasping at air. He grabbed his mask and set it on top of the chest, hyperventilating. His uneven breathing disrupted the air, cutting through the eerie silence with more gusto than Dream had in his head. He tried to knit things together. He was possessed, right? By a- demon? Daemon? No, a dreamon. He froze, remembering what it had said. Everyone hated him? What had the dreamon _done_? 

“Ruined your life,” a voice whispered snidely in his ear, “made everyone hate you.” Dream blinked. Blinked again. And kept on blinking and breathing in slowly and deeply until it sunk in. Nobody was coming to save him. His mind was too weak to handle the dreamon and that exorcism just broke his mind even further, allowing the dreamon unfettered access. Dream was too tired to fight at that point. He shuddered, curling up into a ball and just listening. Trying to hear anything but his own ragged breathing. Maybe a voice. Maybe the clang of a sword as it was withdrawn from its sheath. But the only thing he heard was the occasional hiss of lava and his own breathing. Boring. Repetitive. How he wished that was the case in a better context.

\----

Dream knew something was wrong with him. Something always was. Nothing was right nothing was right **nothingwasright.** His mind was a major conflict. One side warred against the other. Dream had done everything. Dream hadn’t. He did. He didn’t. And so, he wrote it down. In a journal that wasn’t to be looked at by anyone other than himself. He scrawled every thought in his head down on pages that soon filled with black ink, taunting him with their stark words and seeming to shout, ‘You’ve got nothing left. Give up, give up, give up.’ It taunted him with how the dreamon possessed him. How his mind fought with itself. How he, as a whole, started to think that he’d done all those things. Every small thing, to every large thing. And he mourned. Well, the side of him that firmly said that he didn’t do anything. That side mourned for the losses. The fracturing of relationships. The harsh words spat out. And it, too, began to wonder. 

How similar had Dream actually been to the dreamon for his closest friends to not realize a thing?

How hadn’t anyone spared a single moment to just question the changes?

And the most pressing of all, how long until resolve broke? Until Dream just shattered, in a place so quiet, so isolated, that nobody would even notice? So, the part of him that believed firmly that he was innocent began to crumble and cave. It caved in until there wasn’t much of it at all. And it too started believing that he did deserve this.

\----

Dream distantly heard the faint clink of armor as it trudged closer. He blearily blinked as someone came into view and the lave receded. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He was really never in the mood to do anything nowadays. It was basically him waking up, doing his ‘homework’, then sticking his hand into lava to feel pain for his actions. They were his, after all. The dreamon used his body to commit the actions, so by extension, he did do it. It was just common sense. Everyone else said so to. And so, he slowly started to believe. Believe that everything was his fault. Everything was because of him. All of the pain and suffering that sunk into the deep edges of the world he had made. 

Dream ~~began to lose~~ lost himself. Not from a dreamon’s presence but from his own mind. Dream used to be a warrior. He proclaimed victory far more times than not. And yet, and yet, this battle had him at a complete loss. After all, what was the way to victory against your own mind?

\----

Dream shut down. Started ignoring food, and sinking into a detached state in which he hardly spoke and did more and more to feel things. Suffocating himself more. Anything to feel anything. And he wondered if anyone would mourn when he left. Once he might’ve thought more on the topic. Now, he shut it down as him not deserving anything. So, he was so happy. So, so happy the day Tommy finally decided to take his last life. And he was selfish for wanting that too, wasn’t he? Wanting a reprieve from life, however permanent it was. He smiled when the life drained out of his eyes. One that showed how utterly broken he was. And it scared the people present. It scared them more when they found the journal Dream had filled out. The last entry inside it saying: ‘My mind’s clear now.’ That was it. It didn’t take a genius from looking at the previous pages before that one to figure out which side won out. And despite how Dream had felt when he was alive, they mourned, hearts and minds weighed down by the thought that after it all, Dream really wasn’t the one at fault, although he thought he was. And so, they quietly thought about it in private, where nobody saw them break.

Break for someone who wasn’t there in spirit after all. Break for everything that could’ve been. And break for someone who was loved, and then hated, and then pitied. Love didn't heal anything. Hatred worsened it. And now, pity pulled sadness out, for someone they'd never thought they'd feel regret at.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading :D  
> ig i sorta am an apologist  
> ok thats cool


End file.
